


Time to drive and think, Time to park and cry

by GingerHoran



Series: Roadtrip Mishaps [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:41:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerHoran/pseuds/GingerHoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe we should go on a roadtrip, y'know, during summer." Harry suggests, chewing through a mouthful of his grilled cheese, and taking a sip of his coke.</p><p>Niall shrugs, nabbing a chip from Zayns plate and dragging it through the remnants of ketchup on his own plate.</p><p>"A roadtrip?" Zayn says, eyebrows raised as he pushes the plate in Nialls direction accepting his wide grin, and slumping back in his seat to sip his drink.</p><p>or </p><p>the one where Harry starts to feel little heart palpitations whenever he looks at Niall, and his best friend has absolutely no idea, and they're maybe going to be spending 6 weeks in an RV over summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time to drive and think, Time to park and cry

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 1 of my series.  
> Bear with me on this, my writers block has been pretty unbearable recently.  
> But hope you enjoy instalment one x  
> Oh and Suz, if you're reading or well Olly and Bailey thanks a lot for dealing with that for me, and reading through my stuff for me whenever I doubted myself, lots of love. x

Harry's loitering outside their apartment as Zayn walks up the hallway with his keys in hand, the boy's stood with his back curved against the door and a solemn look over his face. 

Zayn doesn't even say anything when he walks beside him, smiling softly when Harry shuffles to the side so Zayn can slide his key into the lock. Before he turns it however, Harry's already muttering about how he should just leave, but Zayn knows Harry's far too upbeat and friendly to just sit at home on a Saturday night and watch cookery shows,  _no_  that's Zayn's sort of thing. 

"I broke his grandmothers china teacup," Harry finally mutters in a sloshed out voice, Zayn can smell the tequila from a distance away and is considering bunking over at Louis' for the night because Niall gets pretty handsy when he's drunk; and Zayn has got a lot of work to do tonight.

Harry just pulls Zayn in close by the collar of his shirt, mutters a second hand apology behind his ear, before staggering off towards the stairs. 

Niall doesn't really listen, or maybe he does but a few seconds later it simply disappears? Whatever actually happens, Zayn doesn't know, but what he does know is that if Niall doesn't shut up right this instant there'll be a large imprint of shoe on his  _perky_  little ass. 

He's currently cackling loudly hunched up shirtless onto his bed with his phone pressed tightly up against his ear, Zayn knows it's Harry, they're always talking about absolute shit until early hours of the morning when Zayn's frustratedly screaming at himself to find another  _goddamn boyfriend._

They've forgiven each other it seems, Harry always gets away with stuff pretty easily because no one can be bothered to sit and listen to him drawl through an explanation as to why he did this or that. 

Niall turns mid laugh to look over at Zayn who's rigid on his bed and he smiles shyly with a bite to his lip that makes Zayn internally shiver because goddamn it if he doesn't remind him every day that no matter how angry he gets, he will still bloody love the boy.

He says a quick slurred goodbye as the twinge of his drunkenness still lies between his ears, shoving his phone beneath his pillow before shuffling across the bed moving his legs wildly, and plopping himself up beside Zayn on his bed with a chin angled down on his shoulder so he can look down at the laptop balanced on Zayn’s knee. 

The quiet that encompasses the room for a moment disappears after about two seconds when Niall's stomach starts growling and he rolls rather pathetically onto the floor to cradle it.

"Need food." He whimpers clawing at the bed spread and arching up into the soft material, ignoring the look that Zayn's pointedly giving him. 

"Go order pizza or something you pathetic fool." Zayn says with no hint of bitterness in his voice, just half a smile portraying soft fondness. He can never really get angry at Niall it's almost impossible, he's just got those eyes that are a watery blue and soft hair that's a dirty blond that falls over his forehead dipping amongst his eyebrows; and Zayn just can't do it. 

"Order a pizza babes," Zayn says with a yawn like erasing the past, shutting down his laptop and flinging his wallet that's jingling with spare change down onto the floor as he rolls back on himself, face smushing into the pillow. 

Niall hums a soft sound into the carpet, hauling himself up with the bed sheet and flipping open the wallet to pull out a few notes.

"Zaynster?" Niall asks, accent deepening a little so Zayn knows he wants something.

"What?" Zayn replies, his fingers scratching his hair across his forehead.

"Can Haz come over, Liam's pissed off somewhere, probably to bail Louis outta jail or somat. Please?"

Zayn raises the pillow from his head to look over at Niall sprawled out across the floor, with pennies piled up in the palm of his hand like golden towers and notes hanging from the pockets of his jeans. Niall grins.

"Uh, fine--"

Niall pumps his fist in the air, and launches himself at Zayn, coins clattering everywhere.

* * *

 

Harry wakes up in a tangled mess on Niall's bed, mouth dry and head thumping; he doesn't particularly remember drinking but Niall probably cracked open a few beers halfway through the shitty movie they were watching on Zayns shitty laptop. That's what he always does, goes out of his way to get everyone suitably drunk; maybe its because no one ever laughs at his jokes when they're sober.

"Sleeping beauty awakens!" Niall cackles from where he's peeked out from Zayns underarm, phone in hand and hair a toussled mess.

Zayn grumbles next to him, turning to the side and shoving his face into a pillow. Niall pats his head clumsily before sliding down onto the floor, snorting loudly as he does so.

Harry rolls his eyes. "You gonna go work today?"

Niall shrugs opening his drawers on the left of the bed, pulling out an old american flag top that he throws across the room to land on the bed beside Harry. "Maybe, got a shift at nine before me' classes, might ‘as well."

Harry pulls on the top, groaning as he stands up and sees the crumpled state of his jeans.

"Babe? Gimme a glass of water?" Zayn demands gruffly, voice hoarse with hidden sleep as he wiggles about on the bed.

"Fuck ya, nah man, get it yourself." Niall replies, making his way over to Harry and spy rolling to the floor to grab a pair of trainers from beneath his bed. He pulls out a pair of dirty black Vans, Harry is positive they belong to Louis, but he chooses not to comment on the matter.

Zayn groans again, rather pathetically. "Haz?" 

"Er nope." Harry says quickly, pulling on his own shoes and making his way out of their bedroom with an army salute, and a half assed smirk.

 

* * *

 

"They say never begin a book writing about weather." Niall says as if he actually knows what he's talking about but Zayn simply ignores him to tap a few more sentences into the word document but Niall's breathing hotly into the soft skin near his ear and it's distracting.

Niall skims over it some more before getting bored at the third paragraph and scratching his fingers across Zayn's chest rather distractedly, fingers tracing round the edge of each inky black tattoo while Zayn tries to concentrate on writing at least another page. 

"Come on, pay attention to me!" Niall groans into Zayn's collarbone and even though he sounds pretty whiny there's a snarky smile hidden between he dips of Zayn's collarbones. Zayn just waves him off rather ignorantly rapidly tapping in a few more words before the laptop is being ripped from his grip and a bony bum placed on his lap, mildly sobered breath washing over his face in waves. 

Zayn forgives him before a pair of lips are on his own, it's almost a flaw to his non perfect soul if you will.

"C'mon, dickhead." Niall begs pulling out of the kiss, rocking around on his lap trying to gain some friction.

Zayn just pushes the boy away from where he's failing to suck a bruise into the stretched skin over his taut collarbones, but Niall’s persistent, his wandering hands threatening to turn Zayn insane.

Niall sits on the floor for a few seconds, bottom lips pouted out petulantly. "Fine," he says crossing his arms across his chest," read this damn thing to me then."

 

* * *

 

Zayn had lived in a single dorm back before he met Niall, found his own company satisfying in a way that sharing with strangers couldn’t have been. Found that he could leave and enter whenever he wanted, not have to care about tidying his desk or hiding his stuff; found a freedom away from the constant battle for the toilets when he was back home. Because of this, he’d only made a few friends, well, if any, they were more people in class that you drag to the pub after a long day; just a friendly chat or a couple of beers and silence. It was better than nothing, Zayn thought.

When he lets himself into his student hall one Friday evening carrying a medium sized egg fried rice and a bottle of pepsi from Mr Xing down the road, what he doesn’t expect to see is the spidery limbed guy who lives next door to him to be wrestling some other guy on the squeaky parquet flooring of the hallway, beside the mail boxes.

They both look up when the door slams shut, Zayn’s keys hanging from his teeth and smile curved up beneath it. Zayn wants laugh, but he doesn’t know Harry well enough other than that he borrowed a pint of milk from his fridge or once helped him when his cooling fan was playing up.

“Oh, hey Z.” Harry grins, and Zayn raises an eyebrow; wants to know why Harry thinks he can call him that.

Harrys grin falters a little, and he flushes turning his head downwards so he’s staring at the boy beneath him with a bode of intimacy; and Zayn feels like he’s interrupting something; something that’s not just a roughhousing between friends.

After a few more seconds of just awkwardly standing beside them, back deliberately straight, Zayn decides to try and step over them since they’re making no effort to stand up themselves. As he does, however, the boy laying under Harry, legs curved up and face shadowed away by a large New York baseball cap, grabs his ankle, consequently leaving him balancing hazardly above the two.

“Hey, you wanna go out with me sometime?” The boy asks, grinning wolfishly wide, blue eyes blazing and no sense of insecurity or rejection on his face. Zayn’s gobsmacked, just nods until the boy lets go of his ankle with a wink before flipping Harry over and proceeding to tickle at his sides until he’s gasping.

Zayn just trips up the stairs one after the other, his fingers burning from where they are gripping the carton of rice, fears looking back down the stairs in case either of the other boys look up and see him flushed, and slightly embarrassed.

It’s only when he’s half way through a second packet of walker’s crisps, and is immersed into an episode of Hollyoaks that he remembers he doesn’t know what the boy’s name is, or when the date is.

In the middle of the night he curses himself when he desperately needs the toilet, he really can’t be bothered getting up out of bed and dragging his tired limbs to the communal toilet at the end of corridor A, but he’s on the verge of pissing himself.

The corridor is dark, and he can hear faint blares of the television and the familiar flashes of light from the door clearances, figures that people are getting drunk on a weekday away from supervision. He relieves himself quickly, freezing a little when he hears heavy footsteps behind him, before moving over to the sink and washing his hands.

“Oh hey Zayn.” Harry yawns out, fingers scrubbing through his hair as he waves unnecessarily from the bathroom entrance.

Zayn blushes softly, thankful for the dark room, switching off the tap and shaking off his hands because there’d been many a times when the dryer had come on and made a huge racket throughout the whole building,

Harry’s grin only gets wider, and Zayn wonders why he is always so happy all the time, University is great, and can be a laugh without your parents hounding you all the time; but well, Zayn has never seen someone who smiles so much.

“Sorry about Niall, he’s a bit forward.” Harry says, making no move towards the urinal which makes Zayn think he might not even need the toilet, might’ve just come to the bathroom for a nightly chat or something.

“Yeah, that’s alright.” Now Zayn is definitely intrigued, but he hides it with a soft smile and a jut of his chin towards the door as an approval to leave.

While shuffling across the cheap carpet towards his room, he can’t help but repeat the boy’s name over and over again in his head. 

* * *

 

"Pft, I didn't gaze ya' moron. I thought you were fit so asked to you out." Niall scoffs, rolling his eyes and shuffling through the papers on his desk to try and find his biology textbook, he swore he had it just a second ago. 

Zayn sighs softly. "Yeah, way to totally romanticize our relationship Ni."

Niall hoots in victory as he finds the large heavy bound book, stepping into his trainers by his bed and surveying his messy desk with a flutter of his eyes to make sure he doesn't leave anything behind, again.

"Soz Zayners, anyways gotta get ta class. Liam's gonna have a heart attack if i skip again. I'll see at the shop tonight, we got the late shift tonight with Haz." Niall says, ruffling his hair in the mirror on the wardrobe before popping on a black snapback.

He swings himself out of the bedroom door, before stepping back in quickly to pout his lips, "Mwah bebz."

Zayn laughs softly, shutting down his laptop as the front door slams.

Zayn drags himself off campus, he's got no classes today unlike Niall, but he catches a bus out of town to the local petrol station where they all work.

Louis' on the till, his chin tilted lazily as he balances it in the palm of his hand, elbows keeping him upright. He brightens as he sees Zayn walk up the pathway and swing open the door with a jingle of the bell.

"Oi Zayn, where've you been? God’s sake man, shift started an hour ago," he shouts, pulling himself up onto the counter and swinging his legs over the edge as Zayn grabs a packet of crisps from the aisle at the entrance and makes his way over.

Zayn rolls his eyes, jumping up onto the counter and shoving his bag underneath.

"Yeah, yeah. Had to finish my assignment didn't I. Unlike you,  _ya twat_ , I don't leave it 'til the day before." He mutters, sliding off his jacket to replace it with the ugly green button up they call a uniform.

Louis sighs heavily. "Whatever, least you're here now."

The day drags by pretty slowly to say the least, a few customers in and out for petrol, just as many to come in and raid the shelves for snacks. To say all that though, Zayn's pretty lucky to have a job that's so flexible. Liam knew a guy from his old high school whose dad worked in the town, and they slotted them in with Mr Farley, an old grumbling bastard with a big heart if you get to know him.

He said if they do the inventory correctly and can organise their own shifts the job is theirs, fortunately Liam called a meeting at his shared dorm with Harry, acted like a proper  _prat_  with his charts and shit. But the message got across, and they got the job the next day.

Unfortunately that means Liam hounds them every second they're working. 

Liam pops in at around two in the afternoon, with Harry and Niall in tow, swatting at each other like spoiled siblings.

"God Harry, you _ass_. He's my teacher, you can't bloody hit on my teacher." Niall shouts as he tries to clamber his way out of Liam's grasp on his collar, much to his dismay as Liam shoves Harry into the break room so Niall can't lunge at him.

"Sorry Ni, he's just so hot." Harry retorts laughing from behind the door, quieting down to little giggles when Liam demands he shuts up.

Niall sighs heavily rubbing at his temples, pushing through the swinging door on the counter to join Zayn behind it, slumping against him almost defeatedly.

"Bad day?" Zayn asks.

"Yep," is Niall's soft reply, as he sinks his head onto Zayn's shoulder letting out little puffs of air as he feigns sleep; he doesn't normally let work get him down, but nowadays it's always a niggling thought at the back of his mind.

Zayn just encloses his boyfriend between his arms, running his fingers over his hair and ignoring the way that Liam is staring at him poignantly from the toiletries aisle:  _get to work you arse._

"Summer is soon. We could go away somewhere, anywhere." He asks pressing a kiss to Niall's forehead, and leaning back a little so he's supported by the counter.

Niall shrugs in his arms, jolting him just a little." Maybe Barcelona, always wanted to speak Spanish around Spaniards, y'know?"

Harry bursts through the door at that moment, laughing loudly as he trips up over a mop by the doorway and flails about for a minute then fails to grapple onto anything before he topples onto the floor.

"Ouch, fuck. My ass, my bloody ass--."

"Harry shut it! No cussing on the job, we talked about this." Liam bellows as he walks over to the counter, peering down at the boy sprawled out on the floor all long, spidery limbs.

Louis appears beside him, grinning like a maniac, before latching his arms onto Liam's bicep. "C'mon Liam, you promised me at least one snog before my shift ends."

Liam lets himself be dragged off by his  _not_ -boyfriend boyfriend, leaving Zayn just as dumbfounded by the two of them as he usually is.

"You feckin' spoon." Niall laughs pulling himself out of Zayn's grip on his waist to wrestler jump on Harry and wind him for a moment or two before bopping his nose as a sign of forgiveness.

"Okay, okay. You bloody minx, I forgive you," Harry gasps through broken laughs as he tries to gather his breath back every few seconds Niall's fingers leave his ribs, but Niall's just grins coyly carrying on his tickly assault.

 

* * *

 

It's a Saturday, and Zayn really just wants to stay in bed and snuggle; maybe even eat his weight in cookie dough, but  _no,_  he's being dragged out of bed at nine sharp and thurst into some ugly patterned golfing trousers and a pink polo shirt so camp that even Alan Carr would refuse it.

"C'mon Zee, you know how much I love golfing. Please, please, please?" Harry begs from the couch, where his feet are balanced up onto the coffee table as he tries to tie his shoelaces, the television remote tucked beneath his chin away from Zayns hands so he can watch  _Barefoot Contessa_ , Zayn hates her; much prefers Jamie Oliver. 

Niall bounces into the room, cup of lukewarm tea in his hands and a sneaky little grin on his face. "Zayn, babe, it'll be great. You could be the next Tiger Woods in disguise, we never know."

Zayn laughs sarcastically. "Oh yeah, cause i forgot i've been hiding an infidelity scandal from you this whole time, aye'," he says, cocking his eyebrow and sending Niall a look.

"Whatever," Niall replies, sipping his tea and making a disgusted face," we're gonna have a great time. Haz and me are gonna make you a championship golfer, ain't that right Hazzer?"

Harry nods, not really listening at all. "God Ina, can you cook," he says, almost dreamily making Niall gag as he puts his mug in the sink.

 

* * *

 

They zoom around the green for about an hour in a golf buggy, the sun blinding them from the corner of their eyes with every jolted swivel.

 Harry's hooting like a child and waving his hands above his head in a cowboy motion, ignoring the stares they are being given by fellow golfers; Zayns not really surprised, what other 19 year old boys spend a Saturday golfing.

Zayns a bad golfer: his swing erratic and his handicap far too high. Harry giggles like a child every time Zayn even attempts a shot, but Nialls always standing behind him a warm hand on his waist, guiding him; its almost relaxing really. 

"You just need a little practice."

"A  _lot_ of practice," Harry laughs, coughing a little when Niall turns to give him a burning glare. 

Zayn hums out a little agreement, resigning to sit in the golf cart and just watch for a while. Its nice watching the dawn break across the sky, a clash of colours, of pinks and yellows and oranges; the way Niall puts himself in position, shuffling his feet back a little and wiggling his bum, before arching up in a great swing. 

Zayn smiles soft and glowing, just absorbing the silhouette of Niall with the dawn in the background. Zayn knows he didn't make the shot when he pouts a little, hands the club over to Harry and sits cross legged on the grass just watching Harry's footing, and arm movement.

"Whoosh!" Harry shouts when he swings, letting the club hit his shoulder as he squints his eyes to look over the grassy green, and the river at the bottom of the hill just to the left of the hole; a pretty little links golf course. 

Zayn laughs when he throws down his club and stomps around the green, and lets the laughter simmer down into a soft little smile as Harry slumps down into Nialls lap hiding his face away into the hollow of his neck.

"Thought i was gonna make that shot," he says disgruntedly, bottom lips pouted petulantly, and eyes widened almost comically.

"S'alright mate, you're my Woods, yeah?" 

Harry nods softly, "Yeah, I'm your Tiger Woods."

They grab a bite from the overly expensive little cafe they have on the green, just behind the glistening lake. 

"Maybe we should go on a roadtrip, y'know, during summer." Harry suggests, chewing through a mouthful of his grilled cheese, and taking a sip of his coke.

Niall shrugs, nabbing a chip from Zayns plate and dragging it through the remnants of ketchup on his own plate.

"A roadtrip?" Zayn says, eyebrows raised as he pushes the plate in Nialls direction accepting his wide grin, and slumping back in his seat to sip his drink.

Harry nods quickly, a few curls popping out from beneath his bandana, "I used to go with Robin when I was a kid, down to Cornwall, then up to Glasgow. It was great."

Zayn looks over at Niall, whose sipping noisily through a straw. "Whaddya think?"

"Sounds fun, need to rent an RV or caravan or somat, though, right?"

Harry nods jerkily, dropping his half-eaten sandwich into his plate and dabbing at his greasy mouth with a napkin." Course, I know a guy." 

 

* * *

 

 Zayn lifts up the edge of the pancake with the flat of the spatula, checking to see of the underside had cooked before he flipped it; raw pancakes were horrible and he knew this from vital pre-university experience in the kitchen.

  
Niall skipped in just when Zayn was pouring on the maple syrup and turning up the radio when his favourite song came on.   
  
"Morning babe," Niall grins, wide and sleepy, making his way over to the kettle and pulling out a mug from the cupboard beneath the counter to make himself a cup of tea.   
  
Zayn smiles softly, switching the gas off and turning the radio up a little louder. Niall turns his head and laughs a little as he remembers the song, almost their song if you will.   
  
"You remembered," he mutters raising his eyebrows and abandoning the carton of milk on the counter. Coming to lay his head on Zayn's chest as they rock gently to the slow song. Zayn just hums a positive into his shoulder letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment or two to just enjoy it.   
  
Zayn remembers when he was shit at dancing, a nine year old quivering in his trainers as he watches the eloquent childishness of kids at the annual school disco, bouncing to flashing lights and cheesy pop; using up the energy from sugary juice cartons. He hated it. The giggling girls in pretty pink frocks, and the boys with saggy jeans and crumpled jeans, hanging outside the restroom. But his mum would always say: _‘Sunshine, you don't know if you don't try.'_

By the end of the evening, he'd have drank enough soda to make his grandmother cry and sat hidden by the decked chairs in the dark away from the bright striking lights, gazing out of the window waiting for 9pm to roll around and for his mother to pull into the car park in her red ford fiesta.

"Oh. Am in interrupting anything?" Harry says with a little smirk, as he stands arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the kitchen entry. Niall pulls away with a little scowl though, his face scrunching up cutely, and a maroon rash breaking out along his cheeks before moving past Zayn to get a spoon from the drawer behind.

"Nope Harry, just reminiscing the past and stuff," Zayn replies switching off the radio as Harry saunters into the room and making himself comfortable on a barstool; as if it's his own home. 

"Ooh pancakes, thanks Zaynie." 

"Say Zaynie again and you'll be scrubbing syrup from you perfect curls, alright?" 

Niall chuckles, tossing his spoon into the sink with a clatter and winking in a suggestive way at Zayn that makes him flush just the slightest. 

"M' taking a shower alright, be back in a bit." Zayn pats Niall's bum with a laugh and a little yawn, pecking Niall's hair fondly before leaving; always the one for inappropriate flirting amongst friends.

Harry's forking pancakes into his mouth, syrup sticky around his lips, speaking and chewing around it at the same time. “Nick has got a caravan that we can borrow for the summer." 

Niall's eyebrows knit together into a frown: "Who the _hell's_ Nick? I've never heard of this dude Haz."

Harry rolls his eyes, chewing through another mouthful of pancake and licking the stickiness of syrup it's left around the corners of his mouth. 

"Nick, my mate, you met him at that party, remember? The one where I got super drunk and kissed Liam- _ugh, anyways that Nick."_

Niall's laughs hard, clutching at his stomach as he remembers the way Liam turned cherry red and tried to push Harry away in the friendliest of manners; Harry was so past consciousness that he passed out minutes after anyway but Niall swears Liam avoided Harry for weeks after. 

"Yea, _fuck_ \- funny shit," he gasps out between short breathes, wiping fake tears from his eyes. "Yeah now I remember. The guy with the pompous accent and big coiff."

"Yeah, I like his hair actually but _whatever_ , well his Dad has a caravan an' he's lending it to us. Rent free, sick right?" Harry told Niall with a jut of his fork in his direction, dangling with bits of gummy pancake and syrup.

Niall grimaces but nods. "Real nice Harry, real nice."

Harry wipes his face with the back of his hand, puts the fork on the plate with a clatter and hands the plate to Niall, almost like he's a servant. "I'll meet you outside the bus stop in 10, say thanks to Daddy for my pancakes." 

"Get lost ya’ little brat," Niall says slapping him playfully on the back of his head, trying to escape when Harry turns on him and chases him around the flat, arms outstretched, making low little animal growls deep in his throat.

  

* * *

 

To Zayn's disappointment he was dragged across town early Friday morning to check out Nick’s father’s caravan, parked unceremoniously outside his family home.

It was better than he had been expecting, not just a rusting old metal shell. It was an off white colour after years of use, and inside was a small cubby kitchen, two sofas opposite each other separate by a rectangular table. In the back was a large double bed, to the right of which a small sofa bed and shower and toilet cubicle unit.

Zayn wasn't overwhelmed by its grandness, but thought that they had enough money saved up for a couple of nights in a hotel when they weren't constantly on the road. Niall seemed happy enough with the setup, ruffling Harry's hair playfully as he held him in a head lock, chatting animatedly to Nick about something or other. 

Zayn was content just sitting on the side-lines, never one for idle talking with no particular meaning or subject; thought it was a waste of breathe and time. Would much rather observe. 

"Well, there you go fellas. One caravan for three," Nick said, grinning lopsidedly and making Zayn think of some sort of feline animal, with his dark eyes and sharp glinting teeth. 

Niall was bouncing on his toes as he inspected the place, bagging the double bed for himself and Zayn and banishing Harry to the sofa bed. Harry only showed a hint of green eyes at this, hiding it with a fake laugh that was loud and sharp in the air before excusing himself to the bathroom inside the house and talking to Grimmy for a bit. 

 

* * *

 

Wordlessly Harry stretches out across the length of the couch, beside Niall, in the opposite direction. They had slept like this, _'top and tail'_ , when they were children and slept over at each other's houses. Nothing had changed much.

Zayn had gone out to the studio earlier, had had a call from the art director at school who was putting on a gallery show in London City centre later in the year and was hoping Zayn could contribute to the university collection. Niall's couldn't be happier when he heard, he was so proud Harry could see it in his eyes and couldn't help but feel just a little bit jealous.

"Zayn's gonna invite us all you know, to the party, all champagne and canapés and shit. S'gonna be ace," said Niall grinning excitedly, albeit a little bit quietly as the movie plays on the television in the background, but he knows that Harry is listening.

Harry just hums softly, shifting his position on the couch and pretends to focus his attention on the action movie loud on the telly, fires blazing and guns firing. But he's actually just imagining Niall's lips on his own, soft and slow them becoming hard and insistent almost impatient, he imagines them living together and cuddling on the couch fingers intertwined and waking up after a long night of sex, hair tousled and eyes sated.

He later wonders how bad this trip in summer is going to be, how he's going to cope with it on his shoulders as he watches them together, laughing and loving. Briefly considers backing out, letting them go themselves, but another part of his insides is slightly _selfish_ hopes that them together will satiate this burning in his chest; some sort of dirty deed, like feeding his addiction. 

When Harry gets home later that night, the apartment is cold and vacant. He tugs of his shoes, and pulls of his coat leaving them on the floor in the hallway. He goes into the kitchen and opens a bottle of wine bringing it back into the living room. He keeps picturing Niall and Zayn together, kissing hurriedly and soft in front of Harry before he excused himself to go home, wondering contently how they act alone, how they touch each and what they say.

For as long as they've been together, which is as long as Harry has known Zayn as more than just a mutual friend; they've always been very reserved about their relationship, never exaggeratedly affectionate or crudely sexual, but even though Harry is jealous he can't help but want to see them in that scenario. 

Harry lets himself into the station on Saturday morning, he's still looks relatively groomed up in a shirt that's actually been ironed and a knitted sweater, except for the raindrops on the shoulders of his jacket.

Nobody else would arrive until later, and Liam text him early this morning apologising for staying out late last night and eventually crashing at Louis', Harry didn't ask questions only promised to open up the petrol station at the appropriate time.

He lazes around the back area for a while, watching the surveillance when a car pulls in to fill in its tank before plastering on a smile when they would walk through the swinging glass door to pay and buy a packet of cigarettes. At around 11pm he starts to get hungry, knows that Louis will appear at any moment now after his theatre studies class, so he walks around the aisles doing a quick inventory before snatching a packet of chocolate chips up and putting the money in the cashier when he's finished them; chocolate smeared across the corner of his lips.

"Harry, whatcha doing you sadass?" Louis calls his voice dripping in hilarity when he saunters in, eyeing Harry snidely, Harry shrugs propping his elbows up onto the counter and cursing when he misses a shot on Angry Birds.

Louis pops on his button up shirt, pulling on a hoodie over the top when he curses at how cold it is, Harry hadn't noticed and had also forgotten where the electric system was to actually put the heating on, he is far too occupied to blame his own bad memory.

They make idle chit chat for a while, Harry pretending to listen when Louis talks about Liam's drinking habits and how the sober Liam is much less fun. Harry isn't really listening though.

"I reckon a drunk Liam would do _anything_ , crazy bastard he is," said Louis, as he walked through the hinged counter entryway and hooked his jacket up on the side.

"Who?" asked Harry, barely listening and lost in his own thoughts.

"Liam! Harry, you fuck, are you even listening?" Louis yelps with a scowl, before laughing loudly before, a beat later, Harry laughs as well; fakely loud.

Harry just mopes around for a while after that, coaching himself into not thinking about Niall which only results into him thinking about him even more. By lunchtime he's irritable and tired, and Louis can clearly see this.

"Harry, what’s wrong?" Louis sweeps the mop across the floor, eyes sweeping up to look at Harry swinging his legs dejectedly off the counter top.

Harry shrugs, but lifts his head up anyway. Louis is looking at him in the motherly sort of way, and it doesn't help that their eyes are the same sort of deep, electric blue colour. 

"C'mon Harry, you can tell me."

Harry shakes his head softly. And Louis sighs heavily, propping the mop against the wall and coming to stand in front of Harry.

They stay in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the buzzing of the heater behind them and the lights humming above. 

"I think I like Niall."

"What?" Louis says, he heard him loud and clear even though he whispered it, but he's frozen and doesn't know what to do or say. This is new to his knowledge, and for once Louis is speechless, and although always seeing himself as an advice giver he really doesn't know what to say. 

 

* * *

 

Louis' being a bit of a twat recently from what Harry can see, but he's not wavering from his decision he can't help that he has feelings for Niall, he can't control his heart like that, it decides for itself. Those blues just pulled him in like the tide, fast and quick, and he couldn't help it. 

"Harry. Talk to me." Louis demanded, for the second time this week. 

Harry, again, was silent as a stone he had nothing to say and nothing to do, all he would do was throw a couple of punches around and hope for the best. But it probably wouldn't change much. 

But then Niall comes through into the room all sleepy eyed and shaggy haired from yet another afternoon nap curled up in quilts, it’s because he's noticed the tension in the room and it made him comfortable, sleep is his unwavering escapee. 

He stayed over last night, because he complained about being lonely since Zayn took up some night classes these past few days. Harry couldn't say no, and they all decided to crash at Louis’ because he shares with three other super obsessive lads who clean like needy housewives, swear like troopers and are all currently staying with their respected other halves. Louis claims he’s single, everyone else except Liam have completely different opinions.

Harry plasters on a blank face of indifference placing his mug of tea on the coffee table opening his eyes wide so Niall can curl up into them like a furry kitten, a candid aura burning through those blue eyes that make Louis almost incapable of ever feeling hatred directly towards him.

"I think you should leave now." 

Louis laughs bitterly. "You're going to have to talk to me some time Harry." Trying to ignore the way that Niall's is inquisitively staring at him from the corner, he never really believed in piercing eyes before but Niall definitely has them, sharp blue and burning.

Harry snorts. “You’re bloody delusional." 

Louis is shocked, completely baffled because when did Harry become the wise guy; when did he become the one to steal the spotlight with snappy comebacks that's always Louis' job. 

_Always._

When Niall asks what's going on between them, Harry just lies, says they had a bet that went wrong and Louis' in denial about the whole thing. But the minute he lets it out he feels all sour inside, because he hates lying _full stop_ but lying to Niall is like a stab to his heart; and it aches really badly. 

Liam comes over that night, shivery from the icy wind he encountered on the way back from the petrol station but that sated sort of lazy smile fades once he sees Louis leaning against the counter; face curved into distaste. 

"Hi Lou," he whispers quietly and Louis shoots a look at him, eyebrow raised and fingers clenched onto the kitchen counter. 

"What's going on?"

Louis laughs, loud and brash, he doesn't really know what to say. Harry just admitted that he has feelings for Niall. But the boy is completely in the dark, just thinks that his best friend is looking at him with the usual fondness, not love. And Louis can't help but feel terrible because Niall has Zayn, content and mesmerising Zayn; the boy that worships Niall from his bony knees to his golden hued hair.

"Harry's being a twat as usual. Told me he likes Niall, god. What am I gonna do?" said Louis. He doesn't know why he's asking these dumb questions, it's not like Liam's going to have a solution. 

Liam stares at him dumbfounded for a moment, before softening a little. He comes up towards Louis, wraps him up in a warm hug his face buried deep into the other boys' neck, before whispering: "Harry will figure it out. Don't worry."

But Louis can't do anything but worry, this thing could tear them apart and it's not like he can blame one particular person either. Zayn is completely oblivious, Harry's just fallen for the wrong boy and Niall, well Louis just hopes Niall doesn't find out. 

* * *

 

Niall met Harry by the creek in their home town when he was nine, whilst he was skimming his mucky trainers across the surface of the water not really bothered that his mum will shout at him for dragging in at tea time leaving muddy stains on her cream carpets. 

Suddenly there's a rustle of leaves behind him and a yelp alongside the sound of snapping bark, Niall freezes up a little, he doesn't like company at all. Much prefers the sound of wind as it whistles around his ears and the crunching of dry leaves in his palm. The sound of silence. 

A young boy sits haphazardly on the grass beside him wearing mud slick chuck Taylor's, and one of those dirty uncomplicated little grins alongside a sloppily cut fringe in danger of getting in his eyes. 

"Hi, m'Harry," the boy introduces shuffling into an awkward position so that his knees won't scuff against the dewy grass, Niall just closes his eyes to see a kaleidoscope of flashing colours as the personal bubble of space he created around himself was popped. 

"I go to your school, Woodstock primary?" The boy carried on lowly almost like he was muttering this to himself, but Niall was never good with small talk, had always found it forced and awkward. But Harry- as Niall had learned, just carried on with his meaningless mutterings not really caring that Niall was completely silent, until dawn broke across the sky and the wind became harsher as it whipped around the two boys. 

"Gotta go home now. Oh am Niall." Niall whispered softly, rushing to add his name to the end as he stood up on shakily tired legs, and Harry nodded looking up at him with squinted green eyes before grinning so wide a dimple popped up onto his left cheek. 

"Alright." 

They saw each other again later that week, in the park where Harry was playing with his older sister. Niall was sitting next to the sand box, back curved up against a tree as he scrapes his name into the bark with shaky hands. It turns out slightly lopsided, but he grins anyway.

"Hey Niall!" Harry called over, hand waving quickly and smile bright as the sun; Niall who is usually pretty withdrawn and content with only his own shadow as company couldn't help but grin back, although less like the sun amongst the ruffled clouds. 

The rest is history, they discovered that they lived in the same village only a few short paces away if you hopped over back fences and tottered across back alleys with meowing cats. They got to know each other, reading Greg's battered old comics and by begging Gemma to take them to the store and buy candy. It was a slow sort of deep friendship, whilst Niall's grew out of his shell becoming loud mouthed and social, Harry shot up in height and stayed relatively the same. Always giggling and being generally childish but he reserved his little grins for Niall's sometimes, the ones with the bright eyes and the flashing dimples. 

* * *

Niall and Harry are dependent on each other more than normal people should, more than _sane_ people should be. Niall has that effect on people, like an unspoken agreement between him and a stranger before they have even met, that he will talk and they will talk back. Harry likes that about Niall, enjoys the fact that he’s predictably caring and sweet, and then crazily spontaneous in the next moment, a best friend all in one. Except they’ve always been just a little more than that, they’ve got each other’s backs in all possible circumstances; the minute a laugh turns fake and mandatory or a smile stretched thin as its pulled impossibly wide, they’ll swoop in to bail each other out in an instant.

Zayn noticed this momentarily, this strange connection like telekinesis between the two of them, the way they talk without speaking and make each other laugh with long winded and coded hand gestures that only boring summertime’s holed up in a sweaty tent as children could perfect. It’s what attracts Zayn to Niall, his easy going, lazy lifestyle and his non-perfect ways. He would like to think he knows the boy inside out, from his wiggly toes to each thread of woven gold on his head; but in truth Harry would thrash him any time in a game of Niall, and he’s not too covetous to admit that

But suddenly Niall trying to keep his composure up, trying to hold all his shattering pieces together because Harry is suddenly shutting him out, ignoring him like he’s done something wrong and he can’t help but feel, as though, he has. Had he said something wrong? Done something completely absurd? He can’t think of anything and its driving him insane.

Over the years they’ve had small little tiffs, silly squabbles, but never anything so immense that it halted all communication between the two, that’s what had always thrived between the pair, banter over beers at the local pub or roughhousing on the floor after an argument over a film they watched which often ends up in them giggling at midnight as they prank call Liam.

Zayn noticed it first, always finds himself lost in his own thoughts as he stares at Niall with an admiration called love. It’s almost as if they’re not together and Zayn is pining over him like the nerd gawps after the high school jock in those horribly cliché films that Louis’ always watching. So he immediately knows when something is not right but in this instance his solution is the problem, Harry who has always come to Zayn’s saviour about anything and everything about Niall is suddenly the cause of Niall’s apparent distress; this leaves Zayn feeling completely helpless.

Saturday rolls by and Zayn wakes up to the soft humming of the kettle and television in sync, sighing he knows it another day in the week where Niall is going to mope around the flat and smoke a few of Zayn’s cigarettes as he bounces on the balls of his feet to crappy indie songs.

Niall, as Zayn had pre-imagined, is curled up in a raggy old afghan that he had always claimed smelt like the rolling hills of Ireland and freshly pulled beer; Zayn looked perturbed when he was told this, but internally knew it was because he likes to snuggle beneath it when he feels homesick.

Zayn fleetingly wonders how Harry is feeling, and tries to keep the anger at bay before he envisions him holed up in his cold flat, watching cheesy rom coms and crying tears into bowls of Neapolitan; but he shakes it away with the thought that that sounded far too like a break up.

“I don’t understand,” Niall sighs as Zayn lowers himself onto the couch, lifting Niall’s legs so the lay across his lap and he can successfully wiggle his toes between the warmth of his thighs like he always does.

“Maybe it’s just exam stress,” Zayn offers, gritting his teeth about how inaccurate what he is saying sounds, because neither Harry nor Niall ever get that worked up over exams that they manage to ignore each other, it’s always that they find solace in each other.

Niall nods as though he’s agreeing, Zayn knows he isn’t, before he swings his legs over Zayn reaches towards the coffee table to get his mug, and walking over to the kitchen.

“Tea?” He calls over his shoulder, and Zayn nods, sighing as he hopes all of this is resolved before term ends and summer begins. 

* * *

 

Zayn finds himself outside Harry and Liam's dorm room on Sunday morning, and he's not really sure where this sudden burst of confrontation that hit him this morning came from, but Niall had been forced to accompany Liam to the airport where they'd pick up Denise, his elder sister; because she'd be staying for a few days before flying out to Paris for the summer.

Zayn has always struggled with words, saying them in the right tone to convey a message that coherently makes sense; sometimes he feels as though they're are mocking him by stringing together perfectly like a poem in his mind before floating away like dust motes in the air when he's trying to say something. Confusingly Niall is his opposite that boy can talk until his mouth is sewn shut and even then he'll crack a few more jokes and let the laughter travel across the crowd he's entertaining

So he's here regretting getting out of bed that morning and shoving Niall into a taxi with a glowing Liam, his hand hovering above the door handle and his eyes glued to his scratched up leather docs on his feet. Right about now Niall would be hovering on his knees above his left thigh, flicking his lighter across the rolled blunt between his forefinger and blunt and taking a hit, palm soft against Zayn's as he blows it south, calming Zayn with droopy blue eyes and little murmurs of:' Talk. Tell me something? Anything?' 

And Zayn would hate and love the way that Niall would mess with his head in ways that he could never imagine, with words that find it hard to string together. He finds it easy to talk to the guys when they're in a group together, that's easy, but then-- it just becomes harder, he finds himself thinking too much about what he's saying and that always fucks shit up. 

"What're you doing?" Someone says quietly, blearily from behind him and Zayn jumps, grips the handle a little tighter as he sees that it's Harry behind him, hair oily and eyes dusty and bags overflowing as they strain against his red fingers.

Zayn just shrugs with a long sigh, because it's just Harry, and maybe he doesn't even have to talk and Harry will just tell him everything anyway. 

"Just get in, yeah?" Says Harry, tripping up over himself as he drops the bags on the floor and struggles to find his keys in those incredibly tight jeans of his. 

And it reminds Zayn of his first year, and the way he'd tripped up the student housing stairs with his mother fretting behind him and his father telling him not to mess about too much, and do what he would do. Then as he staggered up towards room 37A like he was just beginning to walk, he saw a tall boy standing in the middle of the corridor, bags slung over his shoulder and an equally small mother fretting by his side, smoothing out his fringe and whispering things in his ear. 

And it was probably the first thing that relieved Zayn, that made him think that he shouldn't feel so upset about leaving home, there were hundreds of other people with upset doting mothers, and fathers who had cheesy grins of pride at the fact that this generation were getting a proper education. 

They make themselves acquainted in the dark dorm room, Harry quickly shoving the plastic bags on the kitchen counter and running his fingers through his hair as he switches on the kettle. Zayn hadn't even asked for tea, and Harry isn't that fond of it too be honest; but Zayn thinks he just wants something to occupy himself instead of talking because he knows why Zayn's here, knows what Zayn's wants to know. 

Zayn just closes his eyes and leans back into the leather couch that's soft against his bare arms, smells like talcum and fresh lemons, smells like his mother’s washing powder. His fingers are constantly dipping into his jean pocket where his new packet of fags are, still wrapped up in their cellophane that Niall always crinkles up in his hand as he lazily watches Zayn counts them out on the kitchen counter; makes sure he has enough to last him until the rest of the week. 

Harry's tottering nervously around the kitchen, slamming the drawers too hard and pouring too much milk into the tea that'll probably just go cold on the coffee table and leave rings because he doesn't know where Liam put the damn coasters and-- and.

Harry stills himself against the counter, fingers digging into the smooth marble. Liam knows--of course Liam knows, because Louis can keep his mouth shut in front of anyone else but Liam always finds out first. But Harry can't blame him, he used to be the same with Niall but now he's shut himself off, afraid that he's going to do something stupid, say something stupid, because a nervous Harry has no filter. 

"Harry, tea ready?" Zayn calls, and Harry clears his throat, brings over the mugs and decanting them on the glass table, hovering near it as he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. 

"Just talk." Zayn demands, voice soft and low in the dimly lit room the only light coming from the reading lamp on the other side of the room that Liam must have left on before he left. 

Harry nods like he's going to, but then fumbles around with the hem of his old ripped plaid shirt, unable to form words.

"Please Harry, god-- I don't know what to do. Please, I feel like a shit boyfriend, I don't know what I'm doing. Just bloody make up with him, stop being so fucking childish-- just-- just," 

And Zayn's losing it, losing the thread of thought that disappeared just as soon as it came. Thought he had it all figured out like a presidential speech in his head, practiced it in the damn mirror this morning with wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. 

Harry sighs, sitting down opposite Zayn on the wicker chair that's so straight that it hurts his back making him curve his spine forward to feel a semblance of comfortableness.

"Tell Niall I'm sorry, okay? I'm just stressed alright?" The minute the words form and travel through the air Zayn doesn't believe him at all, but gulps down a snarky response like salted water, it wouldn't have come out right anyway.

"Do it yourself." 

And then Zayn's up off of the couch, walking towards door. Harry can't even respond, just watches him walk away, can't remember a time when Zayn came to him about Niall and left dissatisfied with his response, can't remember a time when Zayn felt this insecure about Niall and their relationship. 

His head starts to throb, and his throat goes dry like a withdrawal of some kind. And maybe it is.

 

* * *

 

Liam is picking apart his sandwich on his plate, piling up the ham on one side and the salad on the other like a dissection of the body, skin from flesh. Niall doesn't know why exactly, put he's not exactly paying attention, more staring at his cup of tea that's long since gone cold in the mug from how much he's been stirring it. 

Denise had demanded to be dropped off into Covent Gardens the second she had picked up from the terminal, said she had vital shopping and gossip to catch up on with an old college friend before she went to Paris; Liam just smiled that crinkly sort of smile and agreed. Niall was silent. 

"You talked to Harry yet?" 

Niall sighs to himself, tries to looks mildly interested in what Liam is saying but his mind is running in circles, so he just mutters: "It's complicated."

Liam scoffs, removing the tomatoes from the salad before assembling his sandwich again, and taking a huge bite. 

"Uncomplicate things," Liam says with a mouthful of food, making Niall think that Louis has had a more serious effect on him than they had all thought. 

Niall stays silent for a few seconds, doesn't even know why things are so complicated to begin with. Doesn't know how to solve a situation with apparently no cause, because maybe Harry's going through a phase or is having a rough patch--more a fucking midlife crisis at age twenty one, but _whatever_ it is, Harry's got to sort it out. 

"Yeah, maybe I'll talk to him." 

 

* * *

 

“You want me to try first? He might not want you, y’know, to just barge in there…” Louis feels guilty, so incredibly guilty about him knowing and Liam knowing, and Niall and Zayn both being as confused _as fuck_ about everything, but he hides it with a wonky smile.

Zayn shakes his head at Niall, who steps back, not wanting to go any further.

“Ni, he’s your best friend alright? Nothing’s going to happen.” Liam says, calm as usual about everything.

Niall nods, unsure of himself still, but then Zayn kisses his cheek softly and pushes him forward just a little into the darkened room, and he really has no choice.

Niall feels like an idiot once he’s stood in the doorway, and the rest of them have slinked away into the light of the living room like shadows; because at the end of the day it’s just Harry. The Harry he played with at his house when he was younger, the Harry that wiped his tears away and went to prom with him, the Harry that wrestled him and tickled him and got under his skin in every way possible.

And Harry has heard everything as he’s curled up like a ball in the sheets, tucked his knees under his chin and tries to keep them there even though they are slipping and his hands have to grapple his ankles; maybe it’s just to distract him.

“Har?” That was Harrys first nickname, the one that Niall rarely ever whips out of the bag because maybe it means more to them than either of them realise.

Harry grunts.

Niall sighs softly, at least it was a response he thinks. Before bending down to shove his shoes off his feet, walking forward until his knees catch the bed and Harry’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“I’m gonna get in the bed now, alright?” Niall doesn’t know how ironic this is now, thinks maybe it is an apology platonic cuddle between two best friends. Doesn’t realise that Harry’s got his eyes scrunched fiercely and his fingernails digging into his ankle bone.

Niall hums a soft sound as he curls himself around Harry, but a warm hand on his hip while the other lies underneath his head, fingers just curling at the top of his hair.

Harry doesn’t even open his eyes, just lays there and counts each of Niall’s inhales and exhales that are warm at the back of his neck. Wants Niall to lean into him a little more so he’s a heavy weight against his back, so they’re close. Maybe he does, his heads in the wrong place at the moment.

“You can tell me anytime Haz, whatever it is, I don’t care, tell me. Not now though, whenever you feel ready.” Niall says, voice low.

Harry blinks his eyes open, staring into the dark space in front of him. Wondering what time it is, and how long he’s been lying in his bed for.

“Yeah.”

Niall grins, scooting forward into Harry and cuddling his head into the broad of his back.

“Friends?”

Harry hides his grimace with a small cough. “When were we not?”

* * *

 

Louis’ staring at him with an intensity he might have misjudged, knowing that Harry is probably barely holding it together by know.

“You sure?” Louis asks

Harry nods, “Yeah,” he clears his throat so he can continue. “Just a crush.”

Louis knows it isn’t, but chooses not to say anything. Can’t help but feel that he’s glad that Niall’s so easy to love anyway, he throws it around like a rich man with money, but Harry’s fallen hard, maybe he always was in love but now it is all at the surface.

Harry chooses not to dwell on how long it’s been. Thinks that love it a load of bull, whoever invented it was an arse, even if it was God.

“S’gonna be hard,” Louis states the obvious, and Harry send him a small smile that maybe a hint of laughter.

Harry knows that, seeing them together every day for a whole summer. But wants there to be a semblance of normalcy, wants to prove to Niall that there was nothing wrong to begin with it was a – it was a moment where everything just felt heavy on his shoulders and he cracked a little.

“Don’t be an arse Lou, don’t you have to fuck Liam in the crisp aisle about now?”

Louis sticks his tongue out, before softening and sending Harry a smile so apologetic it makes him wince.

Harry really is hoping he’ll get over it, had crushes on people he’s not allowed to before. Like his mothers work colleague Danny when he was 11, and his maths tutor in high school Mr Troy; knows it is hard at first but there is always someone else out there. 

 


End file.
